The Hero
by waternymph569
Summary: this is a story of a officer who was sent to tell the mother of a soldier that he was dead, and to make sure that the mother thought that, her son was happy but he wasn't. i'm not sure what the category is but it was the closest one to my story cause it had soldier in it so yeah... read it though i really would like some advice on how to improve it. it's based on the poem the hero.


**okay guys this is just a story I'm doing for my English coursework and i wanted to see if it was any good.. so tell me what you think okay?**

**The Hero**

Considering , the cluster of mauled bodies and the nauseating smell of decaying flash - he thought of what a stark contrast it was to the revering lands of England; where the radiant rays of the sun shone across the specks of joy and hope; promising brighter tomorrow, and flowers bloomed in your! - a bomb had just exploded blowing everything to smithereens mere meters away from him.

A very stark contrast indeed, he thought.

He knew he should not be contemplating these things, there were lives at that he was responsible for. He of all people knew how merciless the opposition was. They were slaves; slaves to the horrors of war, fighting a meaningless cause for their masters. Who knew how it had even started? Would it ever end?

Thinking back to the countless soldiers that he had lost, how meaningless their lives must have been...

After all they were just soldiers. No one would give a second's thought to their death. No one - but those aging, lonely, frail women at home. One in particular stood out. Jack's mother. His name WAS Jack wasn't it? He shook his head as if to banish the stray thoughts of his mind.

He couldn't though, no matter how hard he tried. She had just seemed so - so - so SAD. There was really no other way to describe it. It was as if she had aged a million life times in the blink of an eye; she had also gained the wisdom of them as well. Slowly, yet surely she had sobbed continuously; finally she had seemed to accept that "her brave little hero" had gone to heaven and died as he had wished.

Little had she known, that "brave little Jack" had tried every cunning, deceiving and treacherous trick to escape from the loathsome scenes of war. All of his countless attempts were futile. Now he was nothing but a memory. A whisper in the wind of the glaring truth that happened out there. Although of course no-one would believe it. They were all deluded; deluded into thinking that war was all for the greater good. It wasn't. It was but a means to an end.

He smirked snidely. Although, how would his mother feel if he died? No. There was no way HE, a respected officer would "bite the dust" so to speak. He was to skill-full, to cautious it would go against all odds if he did die. Even though he had assured himself that he would not be killed in battle, the image of his angelic mother came to mind. Her tearful eyes. Aging hair. He knew that she would have thought that it was precisely the way he had wanted to die. What a joke! He thought bitterly. Foreboding, cataclysmic and devastating. That was what this place was. Why would anyone enjoy it?! Or even die that way? Away from the people that they loved, cared most about.

"officer?" he was interrupted from his way ward thoughts by a soldier.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"the general would like to know if you would like to go back to England for a couple of weeks"he nervously repeated. No doubt that he was told to say these exact words, with exactly that kind of voice. He shook his head bitterly. "puppets!" he murmured resentfully.

"sorry sir?" the soldier asked.

"nothing" there was no reason to release the poor soldier from his delusions that he was always in control. " nothing, tell the general yes; I would like to go back..."

A few weeks later saw the brother officer in-front of a long, thick, hardwood paneled door with a golden hummingbird knocker. He wondered how he had got here. It was as if the ghosts of his conscience had brought him here to stand in-front of the dainty little cottage were jack's mother was born; spending the rest of her life here as well, no doubt. However short that was. This he thought was the source of his guilt, although why it was a mystery.

He thought back...

He was anticipating the trip to England, anything of course to take his mind of the gruesome horrors of war. Although somehow the mourning old woman had popped into his head. Of course he already knew the address; he was never actually planning on coming here... No matter what the reason. He had to make up his mind. Stay. Or go? He had dabbled far too long in these delicate matters.

Before he could make his decision he heard an ear-splitting sound. The decision had been made for him. The door slowly creaked opened. " brother officer?" questioned the old woman. " what are you doing here?" he took a deep breath.

"ma'am I am inclined to -" I was interrupted.

"Oh stop with all the formality there's really no need with me; i mean after all you did tell me of my son's passing." it was as if she couldn't bring herself to say the word die. She was trying to be brave smiling, her eyes crinkled in the corners; her exterior slowly crumbled as the emotions took over in one humongous tidal wave. She was trying desperately to hold them back to no avail.

Before she could cry, and before his common sense and duty stopped him he added

"Actually that's why I'm here... Because of your son. You see before - when I was here I didn't - entirely tell you the truth; I would like to take this opportunity to put my conscience at rest if you would allow it. May I come in?" (could he be the REAL hero)...

**so.. what do you guys think I know it's not the most exciting thing in the world and I know there's probably a lot of grammar and punctuation mistakes in it but still please review :D**


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